


Laugh Lines

by moodiful819



Series: "Kakashi in Glasses" [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Glasses, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodiful819/pseuds/moodiful819
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laugh lines are a sign of a life well-lived, and miles are best measured in smiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laugh Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenitytouched](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitytouched/gifts).



> So ends the "Kakashi in Glasses" series for serenity-touched. Thank you for all the fans of this little endeavour, and I hope you enjoy its end! Happy birthday, Sakura!

Kakashi sits across from her.

They are in the kitchen, and the morning meal is still trailing off. The room smells of the coffee each of them nurses in their hands and the warm sunshine outside the window. A plate of half-eaten toast is growing cold by his hand. Underneath the table, Pakkun sleeps by their feet. While he says it is the most comfortable place to sleep, nestled atop a pair of warm slippers, Kakashi thinks it is merely to interrupt their morning routine of a post-breakfast game of footsy.

However, they do not mind, content to stare at each other over their mostly-full cups. He is dressed in his usual jounin-uniform, and she is covered by an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of sleeping shorts. Her hair is piled and pulled messily into a bun. Despite twenty-three years of practice, Sakura still does not do early mornings well, and she complains that it is unfair that he does not have to try hard to look good, and that she is hideous by comparison.

Of course, the notion is nonsense, and he tells her that. He thinks she looks fine—beautiful—gorgeous every day of the week, and the comment tickles her pink, making her flush to her toes in a pale rose slightly lighter than her hair. It makes her look like a flower in bloom, the color spreading out across her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders. Embarrassed, she hides her smile in her hands and refuses to look at him, instead muttering something into the echoing space of her fingers and palms. He can't make out what she says, but he can guess the sentiments all the same and smiles back, teasing, glowing, and unabashedly bright despite his mask where she is touched, hidden, and suddenly shy.

Eyes soft and heart warm, they make a perfect pair…

_"What are you looking at?"_

The voice brings him from his reverie, and somewhat distracted, Kakashi looks over at his wife.

"Oh, I was just doing a bit of dusting. Do you remember this?" he asks, sharing the photo between them. Head tucked slightly in, she smiles.

"Yeah, that one was taken by Naruto a while back." The blonde had been working on a personal project documenting the lives of Team 7—"they'll write books about the greatest team in the world some day. They'll need pictures!" he had declared—and had caught them at the end of breakfast with his camera in tow. At the memory, Sakura's smile grows a bit deeper.

But her dismay soon eclipses it. "Oh my gosh, my hair was so pink back then!" she exclaims as a worrying hand picks at tendrils to lament and wonder at.

Kakashi shares her inspection, taking in the white streaking through the pink. "You look fine," he reassures, just as he has done time and time again before turning his gaze slowly back to the picture in his hands. His thumb sweeps over the cleaned glass, and he takes in the sight of the two of them from younger days. Genuinely, he thinks Sakura is still as beautiful as the day this photo was taken. As for him…

His thumb washes over his face.

Catching the action, his wife leans over his shoulder and peers at him from the side. "You know, I think you look just as handsome now as you do in that photo," she comments. Kakashi sends her a dubious look from over his glasses, and she takes the opportunity to study her husband's face, studies what two decades have done to him.

The first thing she notices is his hair. Formerly silver, it has bleached rather than tarnished into a powdery-white like snow, but it's still as thick as the forest surrounding the village. Beneath her arm, she can feel Kakashi still, consciously unmoving to indulge her in her study. His eyes are no longer on the photo or the newspaper on the kitchen table, instead focused on the side of her face, and the eyes are what she moves onto next.

She meets his gaze at the corners, stolen from behind glass windows. Once upon a time, he had not needed such things, but the years have edged their way in, and he has been forced to wear them regularly since entering his mid-forties. However, like age, they do nothing to besmirch his good looks, the rimless eyewear only accentuating them to greater heights. The dark charcoal and deep-crimson of his gaze pierces her like lone smears of paint on a blank canvas; even the ever-so faint lines at the edges of his eyes only help the masterpiece. The years have been kind to Kakashi, and the only sign of age he has is the deep cut of a laugh line in his face, the price of too many days spent in happiness and laughter. The price is more than fair.

She runs a finger along the line, feeling it stir underneath her touch. "Actually, I think you're handsomer than ever," she amends sincerely, pressing love into his skin through the mask he wears, more out of habit than anything else. They've been together for years now; there are no more secrets to hide.

Leaning her cheek against his head, they peer at the photograph together, of love shared over the trailing remains of breakfast and lingered-on coffees. A moment from twenty-one years ago frozen in time.

"Did you ever think we'd get this far?" he asks suddenly, idly, curious.

Her smile curves thoughtfully around the space above his ear. "To be honest, not really."

"Are you glad we did though?" He tries not to, he tries to hide it and smooth it over, but a twinge of nervousness makes its way into his voice. Behind the calm veneer of his gaze lurks the high tense trill of alarm.

Her smile burrows into the crook of his neck this time. She presses a kiss to his lips. "Of course. Always," she answers truthfully, and the warmth pours off her words into his heart.

And it still lingers, even when she isn't there. Gone to answer the call of their daughter, he lingers in his seat alone, thumbing the photograph fondly. The shadow of her kiss still in his bones and her love in his blood, he quietly rises from his chair and exits the kitchen. With one final fond look on days gone by, he seats the photograph on the mantle amidst a sea of others: pictures of Team 7, weddings, their son, their daughter, graduations, and school events, memories of days since. His mouth curves in satisfaction as he studies the collection.

It's a life well-lived, he decides, and stepping away, goes to find his wife and join her.


End file.
